Just Business
by Historyman101
Summary: After obtaining immortality, Firo has been sent on his first job as a Camorrista: a heist. But Firo is not sure if he can go through with it. First short fiction for Baccano! please read and review
1. Word: Ennis

_A/N: Hello, fellow Baccano fans! Name's Historyman101, and I've written a good number of fictions on this site in the past. Of course, that was all before I discovered Baccano! _

_I am a newcomer to Baccano, but I still love it. I watched the anime and fell in love with it at first episode, being a history nut and all. (Prohibition-era America? Bootlegging gangsters? Brooklyn accents? What's not to like?) I've also read some of the light novels, but sadly a lot of it remains yet to be translated. Shame really, because the novels are really good._

_But anyway, this is just a starter fiction, getting my feet wet before moving on to bigger stories. It's a shame that there are so few fictions for Baccano, since it's such a good show, so I intend to change that. Enough chatter from me. On to the story._

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**JUST BUSINESS**

**By **

**Jordan Harms**

**February 1931**

In a small apartment somewhere in downtown Manhattan, the brown-haired brown-eyed boy sat on a wooden chair, hunched over in deep thought.

He was dressed in nothing except his white dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar as usual, black suspenders and green trousers to match the jacket that was slung over the chair upon which he sat.

Recently the Camorra had offered him a chance to go on his first job with some of the boys. It was a normal everyday heist, targeting a small bank on the edge of their turf. A rival gang was contending for it as well. Of course, taking on the job was not something he had qualms with; he knew this would happen because he was a Camorrista. Rather, it was the prospect of fighting that he was not looking forward to.

Of course everyone in the Martillo family along with the Camorra knew he was an expert fighter, but Firo didn't necessarily like fighting. When he fought, he only did so to protect himself and those around him, like when he fended off Dallas and his posse from beating on Barnes, trying to get into that box that carried the elixir that would bring him immortality that year. He fought to protect the people close to him, like when he devoured Szilard to protect Ennis and the others.

When he fought, he never did it in cold blood.

If he took the job, he knew what it meant. It meant the possibility of fighting, killing, innocent people. It meant the possibility of some of his friends getting hurt. And yet he still took the job.

He received a fatherly word from Maiza shortly after the don gave him the assignment, saying,

"Firo, you don't have to do this."

Of course he, Firo, didn't want to disappoint the Camorristi, so he gave his answer.

"It's alright, Maiza. I know."

Maiza didn't need to say anymore. Firo was old enough now to know what to expect from the life of the mafia. Firo had taken on the role willingly, and he knew as well as any other Camorrista what the role would entail.

The job would be pulled in a less than two days, giving Firo the time necessary to prepare himself mentally for this undertaking. This would be the biggest event in his life, certainly would be one of the biggest in the long life that was inevitable for him.

As he continued to brood and ponder over what would happen in two days, footsteps echoed down the flight of stairs of his apartment, like the dripping of water in a cave. He turned and smiled with a chuckle at who it was.

It was a girl wearing a black suit with red hair in bangs and matching eyes. The expression was a blank one, the same one she wore since Firo took her in after the devouring of Szilard and the elixir drank. He had grown quite fond of her in a few short months, but she still seemed the same homunculus that helped him take down Szilard that cold November of 1930.

"Firo," she said, emotionlessly.

"Hi, Ennis," he greeted.

Ennis tilted her head, noting how Firo seemed to be occupied with something, as if the weight of the whole planet was placed on his lean tender shoulders.

"You seem troubled by something."

Firo raised a thin brown eyebrow in slight surprise. Ennis had only been with him for a few months, and she seemed even less an empty body than before. Firo thought that Ennis, being a homunculus, did not come into being with any emotions at all. Ennis was like that at first, but by the time she and Firo met, things had started to change.

"Well…'s funny you say dat, 'cause I am."

Ennis took a few more steps toward him and knelt down so she was at eye level with him.

"With what, exactly?"

"I got offered a job by the Camorra."

Ennis tilted her head in confusion once again.

"A job?"

"Yeah. A heist, actually. Don says I gotta go wit' a couple of Cammoristi ta rob dis bank on the edge of our territory."

"I see…"

Silence rolled into the room as slowly as a blanket of fog rolls across Manhattan harbor on an autumn night. Firo wondered if Ennis really could comprehend everything that he was telling her. She had only been with him a few months and she had some semblance of an idea of what went on in the Camorra, but she chose not to get involved in the workings of a crime ring. Firo didn't call her out on it; he knew she was just doing what she felt was right.

"What about the job is bothering you, Firo?" Ennis asked, with a small hint of empathy.

Firo smiled, catching on the note of feeling from Ennis. Even if she had at first been on the wrong side of the fight when it came to Szilard and the elixir that granted him immortality, she must really be human if she chose to help Firo. Not just anyone, but Firo. She could have told anyone about what was happening with Szilard and the other immortals. Perhaps under that pale face, beneath those red eyes, there was a human soul that did care for him. Firo did love her, and perhaps in time, Ennis would love him too. It may take a lifetime to finally reach that point, but Firo was willing to wait. He had all the time in the world now.

"Well it's the fact I might have to do some fightin' again. And I ain't really lookin' forward to dat."

"You fight very well," Ennis put in, still confused as to why he would worry about something like that. "You shouldn't be scared about something like that."

"'M not scared ta fight, Enn," Firo explained. "But I don't really like doin' it unless I really need ta. But…dis time…I might hafta fight someone who doe'n't deserve it." Know what 'm sayin', Ennis?"

"I think so. I'm still curious about something."

"What's dat, Enn?"

"If you don't like fighting, why did you fight Szilard when you could have stayed out of the whole thing?"

"I got involved because…"

Firo could tell Ennis knew his game, and he immediately recognized what she was getting at. He could have easily stayed out and not stick his nose into business that wasn't his, but he did anyway. He did it because the people he cared about were involved as well. Maiza. Ennis. Isaac. Miria. Luck. Claire. They were just too close to him, too important for him to risk detachment. He never had much of a family in his life, but the people around him the Martillo family, the Camorristi, the Gandors, Ennis, and many others, gave him the support he needed. They were better than any family he could find.

"…Enn, baby, I cared too much _not_ to get involved. When you were down on the ground close to dyin' on me an' everyone else, I didn't give a rat's ass if I liked fightin' or not. I fought 'cause I was scared I wouldn't see ya again. You, Maiza, Luck and the others are just too important ta me."

Ennis looked into his brown eyes, with the same blank expression. Then slowly, a small grin appeared across her lips. She could not quite understand everything that he was saying, but she knew enough to make some sense of what she meant to him.

"Firo, I may not know everything of what you are doing in the Camorra, or what your job entails, but I do know something about you."

"And what's dat, Ennis?"

Her grin widened as she uttered her next words.

"I know you enough that when the time comes, you'll do what you know to be right."

Firo smiled and laughed, knowing he could always trust Ennis to have an encouraging word. She might not know everything about what it meant to have emotions, what it meant to love, what it meant to hate, what it meant to be a gangster, but she knew enough to always trust Firo. For Firo, that was enough.

He held her by the back of her head, and nuzzled her gently, chuckling softly, finding comfort in her warmth the same way a child would cling to a mother for safety.

"Thanks, dollface."

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_A/N: That's the first chapter. I am thinking this will be about three chapters, because I plan to send Firo to one other person for advice and then write about the actual heist. I'm new to Baccano and still learning a lot about the series so if some of the characters seem a little OOC, please forgive me!_

_Anyway, please read and review? Thanks!_


	2. Word: Luck

**Part 2**

There was nothing but the smell of cigarette and cigar smoke, hanging over the dimly lit room like a Christmas wreath, the occasional clacking of poker chips and the radio playing a certain strange tune that no one could recognize, and yet it sounded so familiar.

Three brothers sat at a small circular table, all eyes glancing over their cards, in a game of poker. One with a craggy brow and a glare in his eyes had a cigarette hanging in his mouth, brooding over the hand he had been dealt in this friendly game between brothers. Another, a tall burly man, looked down in anxiety at his respective hand, giving off the impression that this had been a bad draw for him in this card game. The third, a thin man who didn't seem to be bothered at all by the atmosphere, his hand, or anything else for that matter, smiled confidently feeling this game was in the bag.

"I'll start, then," said the burly man in a gravelly voice.

"Shoot," replied the thin man in his traditional New Yorker accent.

"…"

The burly man tossed some chips forward into the middle of the table, piling on top of others already there.

"200."

"I'll see your 200, and raise 50 more."

"Startin' small, eh, Luck?" the burly man laughed.

"Can you think of a better way to start, Berga?" the thin man, Luck, replied with a wide Cheshire Cat grin.

"How's 375 sound for ya?" the burly man, Berga, countered tossing in more chips.

"Dat's a big jump. Sure ya can make it ovah the canyon?"

"I t'ink I'll manage."

Luck laughed as he threw in a few more chips adding to the already large pot in the middle of the table. Both brothers turned to the silent one, the glare still in his eyes.

"So what about you, Keith?" Luck pressed, wondering if maybe their brother had a better hand then all of them put together.

"…"

Keith stayed silent, whether for the sake of keeping his poker face, or if it was just another part of his disposition unclear in this game. He meticulously took a few choice chips of rainbow colors and pushed them in, calling on the bet. Luck and Berga stirred with an air of uneasiness, uncertain of what to make of the move by their silent poker faced brother. They turned down to their respective hands and wondered on what move to make, the same way generals of old observed maps to plan campaigns in wars long past.

"I call," said Berga.

"Me too," countered Luck.

"…"

More clacking chips are thrown in.

A few moments of silence consumed the room as the three overlooked their respective hands wondering if continuing in this trivial pursuit was worth the cost out of their pockets. Berga was the first to voice his intentions, with an air of resignation.

"Eh, I fold," he said with an exasperated sigh. "I can't bluff worth a damn."

Luck chuckled as Berga put his cards on the table, face down. He then turned his eyes to Keith, who still had that glare in his eyes, his face harder to read than a road sign on a foggy night.

"So you wanna show us 'em, Keith, or you just gonna keep raisin'?"

"…"

Keith remained silently, and pushed a few more chips in, and tapped on the table, indicating this was his check. Luck knew his game, and played it as a virtuoso would his instrument.

He turned his cards over, showing his hand.

"Ace high straight."

Keith silently turned his cards over, keeping his poker face on the whole time even when he knew the play was over. Luck only chuckled at what he saw, while Berga simply stared aghast and confounded.

"Straight flush…" Berga mouthed out incredulously.

Keith said nothing as he raked in the chips to his side of the table, while Luck laughed, not at the fact he lost, but at the fact that throughout the whole time he was sure Keith was bluffing and he had nothing at all to bluff.

"That's some poker face you got, Keith," Luck laughed.

"Just what comes from years a' practice," Berga chuckled. "Right, Keith?"

"…"

The two brothers only laughed as Luck gathered the cards and prepared to shuffle for another play when there came a rapping on the door to their little reclusive haven.

"I'll see who it is," Berga offered as he rose with a slight groan to greet their unknown visitor.

"Maybe invite 'em in and see if they want in on the card game," Luck added with a chuckle.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the wood floorboards echoed with a rhythmic loud thump, sometimes shaking the table as if an earthquake was coming. Luck shuffled the cards and started to deal another hand when he heard Berga bellow out to him.

"'Ey, Luck! You won't guess who it is!"

"Don't tell me Dallas got out of the river already…" Luck said with a sense of dread.

He really did not want to look Dallas in the eyes after everything he did, and after the amount of trouble he caused not just him, but his brothers and Firo as well.

"Nah, someone bettah!"

Footsteps creaked on the floorboards as a familiar young man, not 18 at the oldest, stepped into the dimly lit room. Luck turned away from the cards and looked over the chair to get a glimpse of their visitor.

He had hair the color of earth in the summer, with matching eyes that seemed to stare on into the future with the light of hope and the faith in good fortune. He was a scrawny boy, but not gangly, standing shorter than all three of the brothers in the room. He wore a white dress shirt underneath his green suit jacket with matching trousers and topped with a green fedora cocked to one side of his head. The moment he spoke, in his usual New Yorker accent, Luck didn't have to think hard to know who he was looking at.

"Hiya, fellas," Firo said cheerily. "Am I interruptin' somethin'?"

"Not at all, Firo," Luck chuckled. "We're just in da middle of a card game."

"Who's winnin'?"

"Keith has the most out of all of us."

"Why am I not surprised?" Firo laughed.

Keith said nothing and did not ever take off the grimacing poker face he was sporting, as if it was a mask that had been melted into his skin, and even his very soul. Luck and Berga only laughed as Berga showed their well-respected and beloved guest in.

"Haven't seen ya since ya ate up Szilard faster than Berga eats up a t'anksgiving turkey," Luck laughed as Firo pulled up an empty chair at the game table. "What's the occasion?"

"Actu'lly, Luck, there's something I gotta talk to ya 'bout."

"Fire away, then, Firo," Luck said as he dealt out the cards to all.

Firo looked down at his hand and saw the most he had was one pair of tens, a king, an ace and a deuce. It figured he would be dealt a bad hand; the job was looming over him in only one more day, and he was still unsure about whether he could go through with the job. Ennis had given him encouragement to only do what he knew to be right. He would certainly follow it, but Luck was experienced in this business; he had killed for the sake of business before. He had to know from him, a professional, what he would do in a situation like that.

He waited for Luck to draw from the deck before he made his first move.

"The Camorra offered me a job."

"A job, eh?" Luck inquired, obviously intrigued.

He had only been in the Camorra for less than four months, and already he was being offered a job? The Camorra either was short on men or really wanted to put Firo to the test, notwithstanding the fact Firo was already an expert fighter.

"What kind of job?" Luck pressed.

"A heist," Firo muttered, obviously wishing it would be something less daunting.

"They gave a new guy like you that big of a job?" Luck asked, wide-eyed in surprise with the rest of the brothers.

"Yeah. I'm surprised m'self. Didn't think I was cut out for it."

"They must have a lot of faith in you to give you that job. So what's botherin' you 'bout it?"

"Nothin', except the fact I'll have to do some fightin'."

Luck looked up from his hand, and could see that Firo was obviously not taking it very well. The normal bright and carefree mood he had seemed to have dissipated, the smile Firo always wore shrunken to a grimace in the face of a daunting task. He seemed heavy and burdened, like the weight of a thousand earths heaving down on his small scrawny shoulders. In their years of knowing each other Luck had never seen Firo looked this downcast.

"You oughta not worry 'bout it, Firo. You're a great fighter; everyone says so. And it's not like you're gonna get killed or anything."

"It ain't dat, Luck. It's just dat whenever I did throw a punch or make a guy eat pavement, I always did it in defense of someone else."

"Like when ya tossed Dallas around for a little when he was beatin' on that old guy?" Berga commented.

Everyone with the exception of Keith chuckled at the memory.

"Yeah, somethin' like that," Firo replied. "The job might not turn out dat way though. I might have to fight someone who ain't done nothing ta me."

Luck smiled with a note of familiarity at the comment. It was not an unfamiliar feeling. Luck himself had faced a similar quandary as well when he started down the route of a Mafioso. Firo turned in three cards and drew three from the deck in turn, as Luck made his move in this game of words, cards, and cigarette smoke.

"Y'know, when I was startin' out in the business, I wondered to myself if the violence was worth it. All the heists, the racket money, the hits…I wondered what we were tryin' to gain through all that killing."

A few moments of silence once again took hold of them as Berga and then Keith drew their respective cards, content to remain spectators in the game that was unfolding between Luck and Firo.

"And you're still here," Firo noted. "What made you choose to stick on the path?"

Luck paused, looking into the doe brown eyes of his old childhood friend. He had a sense that in time, he would come to know on his own just what he did manage to gain from all this dirty business. He debated quietly whether he should hold off his explanation and let him figure it out. Luck , however could easily tell Firo was obviously desperately searching for answers in a world that didn't seem to offer any good ones. Being the friend he knew how to be, Luck knew exactly what to say.

"Firo," Luck began, not looking up from his hand, "you said to me once that you'd always be there for me when the shit hits the fan. Well, when you're in the business, the same feeling applies."

Firo looked up, seeing the same sense of professionalism in Luck's golden eyes that he had seen since the day he had inherited the business. Firo could not speak, but only bear witness to the wisdom that came from this man, this Virgil for the Dante wandering in a city covered in darkness and corruption.

"When you're a Mafioso like me, Berga and Keith, you learn that you're not the only one stickin' your neck out for the business. Just like you have Maiza and the others in the Camorra, I got my brothers and Claire to back me up when _I'm_ in a jam. There's more to this whole gig than just makin' a dime, Firo."

Firo nodded as Luck drew two more cards from the deck and turned out two from his hand in exchange.

"When you're a Mafioso or a Camorrista, you're more than just another gangster. You're part of a family. And being a family means everyone looks out for everyone else."

Firo stirred, starting to understand somewhat of the things Luck spoke of. He looked down at his hand and saw that he fortunes had changed. The pair of tens were now a threesome, along with one nine, a three and a king. Perhaps this was a signal to what lay in store for him upon the day he was so dreading.

"Luck, you always handle business so professionally. When someone gets in the way, you don't hesitate to ventilate them if need be. I just hafta know if you ever get second thoughts about that part of the job."

Luck looked up, the eyes seeming to cut through Firo's paper soul as finely as could be done by the sharpest knife.

"Firo, when your family's life is on the line, there is no such thing as a second thought. I don't like havin' to put hits on people or toss a dozen bullets in any direction, but that doesn't stop me from doin' it. It ain't anything to do with your own personal thoughts or feelings 'bout it. It's just business."

Firo paused, and then set his cards face down, and slowly spoke,

"Even when you kill other people who get in the way, you don't think about it?"

"Firo," Berga interrupted, "you're thinking too much, kid. Don't. It don't matter who gets a hit on put on them, or which guy gets shot in a heist or why. It ain't up to you. It's just part of the job."

Luck turned to Berga and held out a hand, asking him silently to withhold his blunt comments, and allow him to handle this talk. This was a game between Luck and Firo and no other.

Berga silently consented and returned to his hand, as Luck then parted to Firo his final say on the subject.

"Kid, this ain't just a business; this is a family. And everyone, no matter whether you're a Camorrista or Mafioso or just a normal smalltime crook, always protects their family. And that's why I never have and never will have any qualms with what I do in the business."

Firo chuckled, seeing what Luck meant. Yes he was a Mafioso, but he was still a man like any other. There was still a degree of professionalism to the business they ran. There was more to the mafia than just heists, bootlegging, and the profits from rackets. Being a Mafioso also meant being one essential member in a larger group. The people he interacted and worked with were more than just clients or fellow Mafiosi. They were brothers and sisters.

"When you put it that way," Firo with a small grin as he drew two cards, "it looks like there's nothin' else I can do but go through with it."

"'M not sayin' you can't, Firo," Luck explained. "But at least give it a shot. If for no other reason, then just for the sake of family."

"Better yet," Berga added chuckling, "do it for your new girl."

Firo looked to the burly Gandor brother, wearing a wide Cheshire cat grin. Firo only blushed at the thought of Ennis, thinking about glories of doing anything, everything, for the sake of that one girl who fate had brought to him to meet.

"Aw, come on, Berga…"

"By the way Firo," Luck asked with a chuckle as he placed his first bet, "how is she nowadays? Havin' fun with her sittin' on your lap and her fingers strokin' through your hair?"

"Don't get excited, pal," Firo laughed, in spite of himself. "We ain't there yet."

"Why don't ya move already, huh?" Berga asked, somewhat surprised. "It ain't like you don't love her…"

"We're all immortal, right?" Firo said, as if the answer was simple. "That means I got all the time in the world now. I don't mind waitin' one bit."

"This card game can't, though," Luck said as he called on a bet placed by Keith.

Firo just silently watched as the pot piled up, secretly thinking once again to the big job about to be pulled. He knew Luck to be right, and the bad parts of being a gangster couldn't be avoided. And what's more there _was_ far more to being a Camorrista than just being a crook. He had people around to support him. He had people like Maiza and Luck and Claire. He had Ennis, back at home, whom he could always turn to when all else failed. The family he so cherished, the family he was willing to lay down his life and stand back up again for, was reason enough to continue down the path he had chosen.

It was just as the Don said when he brought him into the family. He was a family member now, and there would be no turning back. Even if he had one foot in a jail cell and another in the grave, a grave that was now meaningless, he would have until the end of time to make up for anything he committed in the here and now.

"Firo, what do you bet?" called Luck, bringing his attention back to the card game.

Firo didn't have to think very hard what to bet.

"I bet the rest of my eternal life."

"That's a hard thing to lose though, kid."

"Then I guess I win either way," Firo chuckled. "Let's see 'em."

Keith lay down his cards first.

"A straight, eh?"

Berga followed suit.

"Three of a kind…" (Uneasily).

Luck , confident of victory, spread them out as one would a picnic tablecloth.

"A flush?"

Firo looked down at his hand, and tried hard to keep on his poker face, determined not to let any of them scare him into submission.

"Well," he said slowly, "it looks like…I'm living forever AND gettin' the pot!"

He confidently showed his hand.

"Full house, fellas!"

Berga gasped in utter shock, Luck laughed, and Keith…well, he twitched.

Firo raked in the pot as Luck gathered the cards and dealt out one more hand, a last play for the evening before the daunting task that awaited Firo tomorrow.

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A/N: This took some time to write out, but it was worth it. Got one more chapter, this time focused squarely on the heist. If you want to see what happens to Firo next, be sure to read and review!


	3. Action: Heat

**Part 3**

Whether he liked it or not, the day had come, and it was now the time to prove himself. There was no time to worry about if it was right or not. He had made his mind up anyway; he would do what was right. Even if this was crime, even if he was a gangster and a Camorrista at that, he damn well had people he wanted to help and protect.

People like Maiza.

People like Luck.

People like Ennis.

The Roadster pulled up outside of his apartment, and with two honks he was heading towards the door, not wanting to keep the Camorristi waiting. However as he was struggling with his trench coat in preparation for the cold rainy weather out on the street, he felt a hand tug on his sleeve.

He turned and found her, looking to him with that blank stare, but even under those emotionless eyes he could sense emotions pouring out, and the desire to have him stay, if only for a little longer before the time came to depart.

"Wassa matta', Ennis?"

"Please be careful, Firo," she said, with a note of fear in her voice.

"Don't worry, Enn," he said with a laugh, as if she was scared of a nonexistent spirit that hung over the home. "It ain't like I'm gonna die."

"I know that, but all the same."

Firo smiled, and pressed her head to his sternum, enjoying this fleeting moment of peace before this thrill ride (or scare ride, either had yet to be determined) began. Perhaps in the future, when this country gets back on its feet, when alcohol is no longer a criminal substance, when there is no more need for crime to protect and provide, he will be able to feel what he wished he could feel with her, say what he so wanted to say to her, and do everything he longed to do with her.

That time would come, and he was content to wait. After all, there was no more need to worry about time running out for him.

As he mused on these thoughts of the eternal, her lips parted and her words came as softly as the coo of a dove.

"Firo."

"What's up, Enn?"

"Please just come back."  
"I'll be back tonight, so don't worry 'bout it, 'kay?"

"One other thing, Firo."

"Yeah?"

Ennis looked up into the doe brown eyes that seemed to offer better companionship than her time as the stewardess of Szilard, trying to see past the veil of flesh and glance if only for a brief fleeting moment into his soul. A thousand questions flew through her mind with the velocity of Tommy gun bullets, and striking just as sharply with the pressing issues they brought.

What is it like to always be on the run from authority?

What is it like to be part of the crime ring that seemed to drag America further down the fiery mountainside to a valley of madness?

More importantly, did he truly understand what it meant to be a criminal?

Ennis had to know, and she had to know if he knew the consequences. She had to know if he could still go through with fighting and endangering others.

"Did you find the answers you were looking for?"

Firo ran his gentle fingers through her maroon hair, as if that kind action was enough for her to understand everything.

"Yeah, I did."

"You can still turn away, Firo."

Firo paused, knowing as well as she that he didn't have to take this job if truly didn't want it. But he had made up his mind a while ago, thanks to the encouragement of her and Luck. There was no levity now, and neither was there any time for it. Yes he was a criminal, but goddammit, he had a good enough reason to be. He didn't mind at all.

"I know."

Ennis nodded, knowing there was nothing else to say. This was his choice, and he would live with what came with this choice. She was not his judge, nor did she want to be.

"If that's the case, then take care."

Firo blinked, knowing that he had to go. Yes he was on the wrong side, but he didn't mind it. Yes he was a gangster, but he was still a man, even if he wasn't all human. There was plenty of time left in this world for him to turn and to make up for what he did now, but that had to wait.

He gave her a small kiss on the forehead, turning her cheeks a light shade of crimson and whispered.

"I'll be home tonight."

With that, he put on his trench coat and headed out the door to the car that was waiting for him.

He found there were two burly men in the car, with violin cases that obviously carried their weapons. The driver was a thin man of perhaps 30, wearing all black as if he was an undertaker on his way to a family that had recently suffered a tragic loss. As he climbed into the backseat of the car, one of the burly men snickered and said,

"Ya know, if ya needed some more time with your girl we woulda given it to ya."

Everyone laughed. Even Firo couldn't help but poke fun at himself for his relationship with Ennis. Perhaps when things have settled down, when there was no more need for bootlegging or bank-robbing he could take his chances. He had all the time in the world after all.

"I'd rather save dat for the end."

The car drove away down the misty rain-filled street towards the intended target. Another burly man with curly brown hair placed a Tommy gun, complete with a full drum magazine, right in Firo's lap.

"T'ings might get heated, kid."

Firo nodded, and cocked the weapon so it was ready to fire, as he looked out the window and into the cold and lonesome streets of the city.

Ever since he had eaten Szilard, he had wondered just what it meant to be immortal, to truly never experience death. He said at the time it was an exuberant feeling, as if a great burden had been lifted. When this job was over, how many more would he have to do in his life that would stretch on to infinity? If he was caught on this gig, and sent off to jail, how long would he do time, and would it even matter? When life simply goes on and on, many of the things people fret and fuss over seem to matter less and less. There was no such thing as a wasted life if he was immortal. He might make a mistake, he might stumble along the straight and narrow path, but life would move forward for all, mortal or immortal. Time would pass, and memories of any past transgressions would fade away like fog being burned in the morning sun.

Being immortal certainly took a lot off his mind. He certainly didn't have to worry about being shot and killed now. It was an excellent and entertaining party trick to heal wounds as fast as they are inflicted without even lifting a finger, but what else was there to being immortal?

Maiza had told him once that he considered immortality not a blessing, but rather a curse in disguise. He would confide in Firo, downing shot after shot after shot as if to aid in the depression, how living on forever can still be a sobering experience. Seeing loved ones die and knowing he could still live on and on wore heavy on his soul. Maiza said that perhaps the most defining feature of a being truly human was finally witnessing the end of one's own life.

He was not a human.

Not truly human.

Humans are born. They grow. They live. And they eventually die.

Not him. He was rather like a rock, or a tree. He has no finite life; he just is.

Firo wondered if Maiza was right, that immortality did have a heavy price and was ultimately a curse.

It was at that moment he remembered who he had around him. He had immortals for friends and family. They all weren't fully human for taking on the "curse." But even if they did so unintentionally, they didn't mind it.

To Firo, death was something that before seemed so far off, so distant and unimaginable. He knew before that day death _would_ eventually find him, but it was something that he shied away from. What's so good about dying? Why did Maiza think any happiness could come out of it? Just as it was depressing to see friends and family pass on while he goes on living, it's just as gloomy to think about dying himself, and while his friends and family go on living.

Death may be the ultimate symbol of mortality, but even as an immortal, death can come if one wished it. All one had to do was place a right hand on the head and think "I want to eat," just as he had done to Szilard, and as Szilard had done on the Advenna Avis, along with others.

Perhaps when he had lived on for more than a century or two like Maiza he would feel that urge. But not now. It seemed as if the whole world had opened up to him in this gratuitous unintentional gift. Besides, Firo mused, watching how the world changes and being there to see it with the ones you love is better than watching the world disappear.

Plus, living forever with someone like Ennis didn't seem like a curse at all. Rather, it seemed another small gift from God to complement this infinite life. She was immortal like he was now, and perhaps watching the roses bloom and die forever with her, see the sun continually rise and set with her, and hearing the unbroken song of birds every spring day with her seemed like Paradise on earth.

His muse was interrupted as sharply as a thunderclap breaks a still night by a burly man tapping him on the shoulder.

"Hey, Firo, we're here."

Firo said nothing but only nodded, and quietly exited the car onto the street along with the rest of the crew. He could see clearly the sign for the bank on the corner, near the street intersection. The driver, obviously the leader of this little expedition, turned to all of them to give them a quick briefing, much the same way an officer briefs his soldiers before embarking on a dangerous mission.

"A'right, listen up guys. We gotta do dis job fast, but we also gotta do it right. So here's the plan. Me and Alonzo will go in and take care of gettin' whatever dough they got in dere. If dey got a safe in teh back, we'll try and crack it open wit'out takin' too much time. While all dat's goin' on, Firo and Augusto will watch over t'ings back 'ere."

"How come I gotta stay back?" Firo asked, confused.

He was sure that when he was offered the job he would be actively involved in the holdup. This came as a surprise to him.

"I was just gettin' to dat," the driver said nonchalantly. "We got a tipoff from someone around 'ere dat another gang is comin' by to holdup the same bank. We t'ink it might be the Lombardi family but we ain't sure. Regardless, you guys need to hold them back until we get outta da bank.

The driver pointed at the roads to their front and to their left.

"If anyone comes down either of those roads, you guys gotta stop 'em in their tracks. When you first see 'em, one of you has to come into the bank and tell us. Which one of you will do that?"

"I'll do it," said the burly man, Augusto.

"A'right. Firo, dat means you're gonna stay here, and makes sure no one gets into da bank. I don't care how many times you gotta ventilate someone, but just don't let _no one_ get in. Capische?"

"Yeah, I got it. Now let's do dis before dey 'ere."

"I like your spirit, Firo," the driver laughed.

The driver and the other burly man, Alonzo, lay their violin cases on the ground, and opened them with a snap. They fished out the polished Tommy guns that would be their tools of this task, glinting ominously in the hazy air.

"Let's light dis candle, boys."

The driver and Alonzo ran down to the street corner and turned right, heading straight for the bank that was their intended target.

As Firo and Augusto leaned against the car, the sound of a door being busted down and the cocking of guns were heard, followed by the booming voices shouting commands to any innocent bystander who happened to be in the bank.

"Every down on the floor, right now!"

"Youse guys behind the counter, stay right where you are!"

Augusto lit up a cigarette as the small drama in the bank continued to play out, they the willing audience a part of this criminal ensemble. However from the sound of things in the bank, not a single shot had been fired yet. Firo sighed in relief, thinking, hoping that this may turn out to be a bloodless affair.

Augusto then reached into his pocket and produced a crumpled photograph in his strong large hand. He turned to Firo and with his eyes twinkling as only a child's would, he said just above a whisper,

"'Ey, kid. Picture a' m'girl."

Firo took the photograph and examined it meticulously, a scientist observing a small living thing under a microscope.

The girl seemed in her mid 20s, with wavy light hair and dark eyes. She was wearing a lightly colored summer dress with the wind lapping at its hems as gently as waves lap on the shore. Firo chuckled, quietly imagining Ennis dressed as such and wondering whether that would suit her or do her no service.

His throat stiffened at the thought, which seemed to dip deeper and deeper into a region that he thought was incapable of being explored. Quickly he brought himself out of his muse and commented with a simple and pure childlike smile,

"Good lookin' broad, Augusto."

"T'anks. How's 'bout your girl? Got any glory shots of 'er?"

Both laughed, as if they knew well the answer to that question before it was even put forth. Firo had not gotten that far yet, though he knew he could let it go that way if he wanted. He certainly held the power to do so, after he had absorbed Szilard. But to make Ennis love him just by his will seemed unfair to her. She may have been a manmade puppet when she met him, but she had a free will. He was content to wait, even if it meant for decades upon decades.

"Not yet, but one day, maybe."

"Just don't wait too long kid. She might be gone before ya know it."

"She ain't goin' nowhere," Firo said with a steel resolve. "I know dat for sure."

Just then something whirred in the distance. Firo looked down the road and could see a Roadster coming down the street ahead of them, a bullet heading straight for its intended target. Augusto turned and could see obviously what may very well be in store for them. Firo cocked his Tommy gun once again in preparation for the worst should it come in this car rocketing down the road.

It was a black car, like most cars in this city are, the headlights glowing a dim yellow like the fading evening light. The tires spun faster than anything, less than a blur amidst the murky misty and dark leaden autumn day. One of the back windows was rolled down halfway, indicated that something was fishy about this particular car.

Firo watched the window, waiting for anything to happen. He didn't have to wait long.

A single hand dressed in the black sleeve of a business suit edged out of the window, holding a shiny black pistol. The barrel of the pistol slowly turned and aimed right at the two figures on the roadside.

"Augusto…"

"Yeah, I got it."

Augusto ran in the direction of the bank, out of sight faster than a shooting star on a wintry night sky. Firo in the meantime aimed down the narrow sights of his Tommy gun and waited for the right moment, knowing that his shots would mean nothing unless it was in close range.

A shot was fired from the pistol.

The bullet grazed his face, leaving a slim cut below his left eye. Just as the wound began to bleed, the bleeding stopped and receded, the wound slowly sealing itself closed.

Firo took that as his cue to open fire, and promptly did so.

The Tommy gun roared to life as its muzzle flashed a deadly and fiery yellow, straight through the hand that held the pistol. The hand jolted with a dark red flash, as blood spurted in a small jet from the palm. The Roadster swerved so that the side faced Firo and formed a natural roadblock. The remaining window rolled down and out came the muzzle of Tommy guns, blazing hotter than the mid-afternoon sun.

Three bullets punched through his leg as blood squirted out of the wound, darkening his olive green slacks. The wounds soon closed however and the blood was recalled to his body as he took cover behind the engine hood of the car, firing over the top and hoping that he might score a hit.

Augusto came running back, dodging the agents of death that flew through the misty still air like a swarm of angry hornets, and ducked down behind the car, next to Firo.

"They came sooner than expected," Firo said with a note of annoyance.

"Yeah. The guys back in the bank are havin' some trouble getting all the dough togetha'. We gotta hold 'em off a little longer before we hightail it outta here."

"Back me up, then, Augusto…"

Firo started to rise and aim his Tommy gun, but Augusto pulled him back down, and presented him with a BAR that he had been carrying.

"Use dis instead, kid. Dey cut betta t'rough the cars."

"Thanks."

Firo traded in his Tommy for the BAR, and fired over the hood of the car. He was remarkably successful in tearing one of the doors to shreds, leaving the pistol wielding gangster for dead. The pistol was replaced by three Tommy guns, which fired a blanket of lead into Firo's direction.

Firo quickly ducked to avoid the fire, though wondering to himself why he would, considering how he was now invulnerable to all things, least of all bullets. The thoughts raced by so fast everything seemed a blur as the swirl of lead and fire and smoke continued to spiral further out of his hands.

Augusto fired off several rounds from his Tommy gun over Firo's head, in an effort to relieve the pressure on him. This worked briefly, as Firo soon leaned out and fired off a few rounds from the BAR, punching three neat holes into door to the driver's seat, and then fired off into the direction of one gangster, sporting a flat cap and wearing a black coat, firing outside of the car and behind the engine hood.

However he missed, and the gangster soon reciprocated toward him, forcing Firo to duck out of the way. Of course, it was not until he got another scratch on his shoulder that he did so. The wound disappeared as quickly as it came, and Augusto soon plugged a dozen agents of death into their opponent, downing him faster and harder than a bag of hammers would drop.

Firo sat and paused, wondering what should be done next. It was clear that the driver and Alonzo weren't coming out of the bank anytime soon, and lest they get pinned in the bank, these Lombardi men had to be driven away. He had to think of something and fast.

"Augusto, what's takin' the guys so long?" Firo called as he fired off a few more rounds from the BAR.

"There was a safe in the back. Alonzo must be havin' trouble breakin' it open."

"Tell him he betta forget 'bout that safe before those goons get in!"

Augusto nodded and ran, as Firo fired off the BAR, getting the flat capped Lombardi gangster in the head going down with a trail of blood flowing from his wound in a single unwavering river. He ducked down from incoming bullets that flew at him like torpedoes speeding through water. A cartridge found its mark on his forehead, and he jerked back from the impact. He fell flat on his back onto the stone cold wet pavement.

His vision went black in an instant, all sounds of the world became mute. There was no gunfire. There was no idling of the Roadster's motor. No shouts and calls from Augusto. No sign of the driver or Alonzo.

There was only quiet. Quiet and emptiness.

So this is what death is like, he thought as the wound slowly began to close and the blood began to recede. It's not being greeted with a bright light. It isn't calmness. It isn't relief. It's only numbness and the painful sound of stillness, stillness that stabbed his heart with its piercing and unforgiving dagger, and twisted it, wrenching his heart ever further into black, before tearing it in two.

So this is what he and all of humanity dreaded. And he could easily see why.

The thought of dying gave him an idea to relieve the pressure on them and drive the gun-toting Lombardi gang away. It was an insane one. It was enough to make a horror show, it was so insane, but it seemed like their only chance.

Firo's vision returned and his eyes met the hazy grey stormy sky over a gloomy city plagued by crime and turmoil. They were part of it yes, but maybe what they did here was actually helping cure the cancer, even if it was from the wrong way. A dark large figure soon came into his view, his face darkened but his voice bright and clear.

"'Ey, kid, you okay?"

"Yeah…" he breathed. "I got me a bad pain in da head, though…"

Augusto laughed as he pulled the young Camorrista up and back behind the car, and handed him the BAR for him to resume firing. Firo waved it away however.

"I got me a better idea."

"What you thinkin' of, kid?"

"Just hand me dat choppa' and enjoy the show!"

Augusto promptly handed him the Tommy gun, trading it in for the BAR. Firo cocked the weapon, and with the reckless abandon one only saw in a soldier wishing to invite a shot and be a sacrificial lamb, ran out from the cover of the car.

"'EY, GUYS, LOOKIN' FOR ME?"

The gunners answered in no uncertain terms.

What felt like a dozen little daggers ripped through his torso, blood spurting in small jets from each penetration. He staggered and fell on the car, leaning against it in an attempt to regain his footing. The pain he felt in his stomach soon subsided and the wounds closed as he stepped resolutely forward.

"Ah, come on," he jeered sarcastically. "I seen kids with pop guns shoot bettah 'an you!"

"SHUT IT!" called out a mobster, as if to suppress the shock he felt that his gun had no effect on the boy Cammorista.

Another hail of bullets came buzzing by him and through him like angered bees eager to defend their hive. They ripped through his body as a house would be torn asunder by a cyclone, and yet all this mattered not to the little gangster. Every step taken by him was answered in another wavering step back by the three gunners, wondering how it was that nothing seemed to effect this young man…was it even a man?

He stood only a few feet away from them now, their ammunition spent, their guns empty and their resolves flagging. They sat cowering behind the car in a vain attempt to hide themselves from what seemed to be a monster standing before. Firo paused, leaning on the hood of the car, allowing his wounds to regenerate.

His coat was torn away at the knee from the incessant gunfire which now had all but stopped, his fedora blown off, bullet holes riddling his suit, and yet on his body not a single piece of evidence he had been shot, as if the shots all simply bounced off him.

"Aww, is dat all you guys got?" Firo asked, looking at the mobsters on the concrete pavement and laughing as if they had seen a ghost.

"What…what the hell _are_ you?" one mobster asked.

Good question. The simple answer would be Firo Prochainezo, but of course there was more to him than just his name. He was a Cammorista, one of the most powerful crime organizations in New York. He was a mobster like them trying to make ends meet in the best way he knew possible. He was an immortal, destined to see the end of the world frozen forever in his young adult body. He had a homunculus for a friend back in his apartment…no, not just a friend. More than that now.

But above and beyond all these things he could call to his credit, he was first and foremost, a man. Perhaps not all human, but a man all the same. And a man, like any other, protected family.

Would any of these mobsters comprehend anything he told them? Would they be able to grasp his life story and how he came to be the immortal he was now? Would they even care anyway? He smiled, the answer seemingly obvious as he raised his Tommy gun at the remaining mobsters.

"You just wouldn't understand."

The quiet air was murdered quickly by "rat-tat-tat" of the Tommy gun and the thudding of bodies against cold hard pavement. The silence removed the knife that caused its wound and regained its place and drew a curtain of mercy over the fearful scene.

Firo, his suit spattered with blood and the barrel of his gun smoking, paused for a moment and suddenly everything else seemed clear. This was just part of the business he had agreed to take once he stepped into the world of crime. Luck was right; it might not be the best part of the job, but he would do it for protecting his fellow Camorristi, his family, his friends and his loved ones.

It was a sin, but one that Firo was willing to carry.

He turned on his heel and walked away nonchalantly, as if this job had never come to pass. He looked to see Augusto peeking over the top of the engine hood, still with shock and awe of what he had just seen. The boy had singlehandedly killed all three Lombardi, his body had taken a beating the likes of which no human could ever hope to survive. And yet he still walked. He still lived. He still sinned.

Firo handed him the now empty Tommy gun.

"'Ere, take it. I dun need it anymore…"

Augusto was slow to reply, numb from shock, but he took it. Firo removed his coat, seeing how it was now fit for disposal after all the gunfire. Perhaps he could donate it to some needy soul through the Salvation Army come Christmas time. At least it was better than not giving back at all.

He did give back. Often. He gave back to Maiza by "eating" Szilard. He gave back to Ennis by allowing her to stay with him after Szilard's death. He gave back to the Camorra by taking this job, despite the hesitation that moved his heart. He gave back if only to balance out if not outweigh his sin. He was a sinner, but he would do it if only to aid those around him.

He had all the time in the world to make it up.

"Dat was some stunt, kid," Augusto breathed out.

"It's one I'd ratha' not do often," Firo admonished.

"Except for parties, right?" Augusto challenged, friendly nudging him in the shoulder.

"Yeah," Firo laughed. "Parties are a special case."

At that moment, the driver and Alonzo came back carrying large white bags. Firo looked to the two of them and said, in a mixture of sarcasm and annoyance,

"What took you guys so long?"

"Dat safe just wouldn't crack," Alonzo admonished in embarrassment.

Firo scowled, and Alonzo took that as a cue to shut his mouth. The driver only sighed exhaustedly, knowing the injustice done to their fellow Cammorista.

"Doe'n't matter now," the driver said. "We got what we came for; now let's get outta here."

"Yeah," Firo acknowledged, heading toward the car. "'Fore more of those Lombardi goons show up."

They put away their instruments of the trade into their violin cases as gently as one would handle an actual violin. The business done, the job over and all objectives accomplished, the Roadster started up and U-turned to head back home. Firo called out to the driver.

"There's someone I gotta meet back at the flat. Drop me off dere."

"Y'mean your girl?" the driver said with a chuckle.

The car was filled with laughter. Even Firo had to laugh.

The laughter left as quickly as it came, and silence filled the car. Firo then felt a pressing need to know from his fellow Camorristi just what _they_ thought of the job. He had learnt from Ennis and Luck, but never from the people he worked with in this, his first real field day as a Camorrista. How did they feel about being part of a gang of criminals? How did they feel about committing violence in the name of business?

He just had to know.

"'Ey, got a question."

"For who?" asked Augusto.

"Just anyone who can answer it."

"Go ahead then, kid. We're all ears," said the driver.

"I gotta know. How do you feel about doin' this stuff day after day?"

Alonzo looked back from the front passenger seat to the young Camorrista in back, as if he asked a question to which the answer was obvious.

"It's part of the job kid."

"I know all dat, dammit," Firo said, tired of hearing that line. "I'm just sayin', does it ever weigh on you? How do you carry that burden all the time?"

"Know what I t'ink, kid?" Augusto started, looking out mist covered window. "I don't t'ink it matters what I t'ink. The moment the first bullet flies past ya, or your best bud gets a hit put on 'im, all dat morality and responsibility crap goes out the window."

The driver looked in the rearview mirror and could see their young member was dying for a serious answer, obviously shaken a bit from his first job. Not uncommon among the new recruits. They would get used to it in time.

"Y'know, kid, I asked myself the same thing back when I started. Before I joined, there was a hit that was put on my family by a rival gang. We tried to move to a different part a' the city, but the gang caught up wit' us. I lost both my brudda and little sister. I managed to get outta dere unscathed by some miracle. And then the Camorra took me in, and they told me somethin' that's stuck wit' me ever since."

The driver looked back, and piercing into Firo's doe brown eyes, and into his young and still wishful thinking soul, said,

"Ognuno guarda per tutti gli altri. Questa è famiglia."

"Mind translatin' dat, pal?"

"It's Italian kid. It means, 'Everyone looks out for everyone else. That is family.'"

Firo leaned back, now understanding it all and not feeling the need to ask anymore. This was not for selfish gain. This was not for profit. This was for the sake of each other and all who were close and dearest and loved. That was worth every transgression, and any time spent to redeem and repent.

"I gotcha."

He looked out the window and saw the cinderblock and brick apartments pass by him, counting the apartment numbers and trying to point out how one was different from another, but never quite succeeding in that regard. In this jungle of concrete and asphalt, all buildings looked the same. Yet the natives of this jungle were as unique and diverse as the snowflakes of winter. He was a man, even if he was a man from the wrong side of the tracks. He had people to watch over, and this would be his modus operandi for doing so, even if it wasn't the best.

He spotted a woman standing in the window wearing a black business suit, staring out intently in no general direction. She seemed deep in thought, perhaps wondering how it was that a city that was considered the city of gold, the city of hope for millions, turned out to be a city in turmoil with itself run by mobsters, bootleggers, and thieves. Prohibition was supposed to end corruption, decadence and vice, and yet it all but encouraged it, always and everywhere. Firo was a part of it. The Gandors were a part of it. Maiza was a part of it. The Martillos, the Camorra, everyone was involved to some extent.

He quietly offered his apologies to the woman in the window, staring off into space with nothing but a heavy heart to weigh her to earth.

_I'm sorry. It ain't anything personal. It's just business._

The car pulled to a stop, and he found himself looking outside his apartment, and found out that the woman he offered apologies to was none other than Ennis, staring down at the car that carried her anchor, her protector, her link to life, and her friend. Firo smiled and waved weakly to her, who only smiled gently in kind, perhaps out of loss of understanding at that gesture.

He had a lot to teach her about human interaction yet. But he didn't mind it. He had all the time in the world.

"This is your stop kid."

"Yeah, thanks," he said as he opened the door and exited the car.

In the meantime, Ennis watched intently as her significant other step out of the Roadster and onto the slippery cold pavement and into the misty and ambiguous air of this city gone awry. Before walking up the steps to his apartment, his roommate and object of his affections, he turned to the driver and spoke to him something that no one else could catch.

The driver only smiled and laughed, nodding and saying something else in kind before driving away. Firo then turned and walked up the steps. The quiet rattling of the door lock broke the stillness of the apartment as Firo pushed in his key and turned it.

The door opened with a slight creak to show Firo, still wearing a proud and content smile on his young face as if none of this had ever come to pass, enter the apartment.

"I'm home!"

"Welcome home," she greeted, turning to him with the note of empathy still in her maroon eyes. "How did the job go?"

"It went okay, I guess," Firo said in a lukewarm tone as he hung up what remained of his coat on a hanger. "I still had ta shoot some guys, but it wa'n't all that bad really."

"Did you mind it?" Ennis asked pressingly.

Firo looked to her maroon eyes and knew her game. It was a game that man and woman had played for centuries, and yet Ennis, a novice when it came to matters like these, played like she knew all the rules and all the tricks. Firo didn't hide anything, nor would he want to.

"I did mind a little, but I did what I had to, and dat's it."

Ennis blinked, and stepped closer. Firo then wondered how it was that she, the person he cared for most, more than Maiza, more than Luck, more than even his own family, could stay with someone so dangerous as he. How was it that she could blindly trust him, knowing that he was still a criminal, and a member of a dangerous crime ring at that? She had to have a reason for continuing to stay with him when she could have lived with anyone else and avoid the messes that came with being a member of the Camorra.

"Ennis, can I ask ya somethin'?"

"What is it?"

Firo sighed, wondering whether he even wanted to hear her answer to the question that was gnawing in his mind.

"You know…before anything else…that I'm a criminal, right?"

Ennis blinked again, and slowly nodded.

"I am well aware of that."

"Then why? Why'd ya choose to stay with me? Why'd you pick me to be with, knowin' all the trouble I could drag ya into? You coulda lived on your own, or picked someone else to be with, but you chose me. Why, Enn?"

Ennis stopped and seemed to consider the question. It was a legitimate one, certainly. Being a Camorrista did mean trouble, no arguing that. Being close to him could endanger not only himself but her as well. There may indeed come a day when he would be sent off to jail to pay penance for his crimes here and now. And then what?

Ennis took another step closer to him, close enough for him to smell her flowery scent and feel her warmth.

"Firo, I know that you are on the wrong side of the law, but that does not change what you are to me. I may not know everything about things like love or hate, but I do know that I trust you, despite what you are. You saved my life. You killed Szilard. You cared for me and everyone else enough to get involved in something that at first did not concern you. You cared enough for me to allow me to stay with you when I did not know who to go to. Whether you break the law or not does not change what sort of man you are, Firo. And I know that you are a kind man. That is why I chose you."

Firo was satisfied. More than satisfied, he was as happy as a schoolboy when summer finally arrives. Being a criminal didn't matter; what was important was what was in one's heart. A life of crime could not change who he was. The business did not make the man. The man made himself.

He walked with her towards a small sofa in the open living space of their apartment, arm casually over her shoulder, eyes looking nowhere but at hers and wearing a smile wider than the Cheshire cat's grin.

"Y'know, Enn, today I was thinkin' a little 'bout this whole immortality biz goin' on for us and Maiza and the others."

"Oh?"

"Maiza often asked me why I think immortality sounds so great. He thinks it's a curse, to always live and while those around ya die. But I was thinkin' 'bout it today on the way to da job."

"What about it?"

"Y'know, immortality ain't that bad of a deal. What matters is what you do wit' it. You can waste it away and live on alone and friendless, or you do somethin' great wit' it, and live on forever happily."

He turned to her and chuckled as they sat on the sofa.

"Livin' for eternity ain't so horrible," Firo concluded. "But it's a wasted eternity that's a real nightmare."

"So what do you plan to do with your eternal life, Firo?" Ennis asked intently, her eyes locked on his with interest.

Firo smiled, as if the answer did not need to be given.

"I plan to make somethin' of it. Even if it's in a life a' crime, I'd ratha' do somethin' with my life than just waste it away in stuff that don't matta."

Ennis smiled, as if nothing less was to be expected Firo.

"It sounds like a good plan, Firo. By the way…"

"Yeah?"

"I saw you say something to the driver before you came in. What did you tell him?"

Firo thought for a moment, and then remembered what she was referring to. He laughed at the thought.

"Oh, him. I told him to tell the don that next time I go on a job, I'd ratha' take a knife wit' me. Only a knife."

"Why a knife?"

Firo raised his eyebrows and chuckled.

"Guns just ain't my style."

Ennis laughed quietly, one of the few times Firo ever heard her laugh. It was such a melodious sound, better than the chords of a jazzy tune. If she could laugh, she could definitely love him. It may take many years to finally reach it, but he didn't mind. He was content to wait for now.

They sat there for the rest of the day and into the night, chatting away over things too small to note, and too long to be recorded. They sat to listen to the quiet sounds of their home, enjoying their small plot of peace in a city that didn't seem to offer any. They sat, pondering and dreaming of what will become of them in the existence known as eternity. Firo was right about one thing though, something he never forgot about that day and always remembered in the days, years, and decades that followed.

Death was not something to fear. Immortality was no curse. Rather, to live unfulfilled and unhappy is to die every day.

_What's Next on Baccano!_

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A/N: Well that's it, guys. This took me a while to plug out, but it was well worth the time and effort. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. As always read and review, and be sure to look for any future stories from me. I already have a few planned for this series already.

Thanks!


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